


Hold Me So Tight I'd Bruise You

by whisperedstory



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedstory/pseuds/whisperedstory
Summary: Jaskier isn't going to stay in a town where Geralt isn't welcome. All he really needs is Geralt, some food and a bedroll they can share.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 45
Kudos: 681





	Hold Me So Tight I'd Bruise You

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [dancing_adrift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift) <3
> 
> Title inspired by Amazing Devil's "Wild Blue Yonder".

Jaskier lets out a soft keen and turns his head into the crook of his folded arms, stifling the noises spilling from his mouth. Sleep is still clinging to the edge of his mind, making everything feel fuzzy and slow.

Above him, Geralt lets out a grunt, mouth pressed against the curve of Jaskier's neck. The sound vibrates against Jaskier's skin and his breath hitches. He cants his hips back, wanting more, and Geralt sinks deeper into Jaskier with a thrust.

Jaskier screws his eyes shut, panting, the slight sting of penetration mixing with the bursts of pleasure, the delirious rush he always feels when they do this, when he has Geralt on top of him, inside of him. 

He tries to splay his legs wider, as far as the confines of their bedroll allow.

"Jask," Geralt rasps, and with another roll of his hips he pushes the rest of the way in, until he's pressed flush against Jaskier's ass. He's a heavy weight on top of Jaskier, a line of heat he can feel through the layers of their shirts.

Geralt nuzzles his neck, body still for a few moments. "Good?"

"Yes," Jaskier replies with a stifled moan, turning his head to the side, shifting under Geralt. There's little space, and Geralt's weight is holding him down, so all he can do is squirm, rubbing his hard cock against the fabric under him, soft, needy noises falling from his lips. He's pinned, impaled, and heat curls tightly in his belly.

Geralt hums. His hands settle on Jaskier's hips, fingers pressing into flesh, and he rocks down into Jaskier.

"Fuck, Geralt," Jaskier whines, and Geralt grunts in reply. There isn't much room for him to move, so he just grinds down, slow and dirty, mouthing and biting at Jaskier's neck as he does so. 

Jaskier never wants this moment to end and the thought startles a laugh out of him. If his family could see him now, he thinks muzzily. The one time his father caught him kissing a boy, he almost beat him bloody. And now here he is. Spread out on the hard ground in some nameless forest, pinned down and getting fucked by a witcher, his moans mingling with the wind rustling through the leaves. The air smells heavy of damp earth, mixing with the salty, sharp scent of their sweat and sex.

Jaskier never, _ever_ wants to be anywhere else.

"Jask. Jaskier," Geralt grunts, his voice dark and strained, fingers biting into Jaskier's hips. There'll be bruises and Jaskier will marvel at them for days to come.

"Please," he begs. He doesn't know what he's asking for, but then Geralt lifts his head, crushes his lips to Jaskier's, knowing exactly what Jaskier craves, what he needs, even before he does. 

The angle isn't perfect, but Jaskier doesn't care, silently begging for kiss after kiss, as Geralt fucks him with slow, steady thrusts. There's a crick in his neck and spit on his cheek and Jaskier feels like he's soaring.

"Jaskier," Geralt grumbles, biting at his lower lip. And then he spills inside of Jaskier with a drawn-out groan moments later, burying himself deep with a harsh snap of his hips. It's enough to send Jaskier over the edge too, the feeling of Geralt's come inside of him, hot and sticky, as Geralt trembles through his release. 

For a moment, they lie like that, panting and enjoying the afterglow. 

"Heavy," Jaskier eventually mumbles, but he still makes a disappointed noise when Geralt lifts off him, his cock slipping free.

"We're going to have to clean the bedroll properly," he complains, squirming a little at the feel of Geralt's spend between his cheeks and his own beneath him, sticky and gross against his skin where his shirt—well, _Geralt's_ , which Jaskier nicks every night to sleep in—has rucked up. "And me."

Geralt rolls off him with an amused huff and Jaskier reaches for his arm before he can slide out from the bedroll.

"Not yet," he says. 

He expects Geralt to grumble, but he just shifts around and drags Jaskier against his chest, nuzzling the curve of his neck. His hand slips under Jaskier's shirt and settles warmly on his belly.

"This is a much nicer way to wake up then your usual _Jaskier, get up, we're leaving_ ," Jaskier says, lowering his voice to a rumble much like Geralt's.

Geralt snorts. "Don't get used to it."

"Why not?" Jaskier asks. He trails his fingers over Geralt's forearm. "It makes you much more amenable, too, darling. In fact, I think I will demand that we start each day with a little romp from now on. I shall refuse to get up unless you've ravished me thoroughly."

"I'll leave you behind," Geralt threatens, but there's no heat in his words.

"Very believable, coming from the witcher currently cuddling me." 

"We're not cuddling," Geralt says. 

Jaskier hums. "Ah yes, forgive my ignorance. We're merely curled up together and you're holding me and nuzzling my neck sweetly. That is, in fact, the very opposite of cuddling, you're right."

"Hmm, yes," Geralt says and kisses him behind the ear. 

"You're in a good mood this morning," Jaskier says, unable to keep the delight out of his voice. "You are my witcher and not a doppler, aren't you?" 

"I wouldn't tell you if I was."

"Hmm. Well, if you are, then I'm at your mercy, doppler. Do with me as you wish."

"I will," Geralt rumbles, lips trailing up the side of Jaskier's throat. "I'll have my fun with you. Take my pleasure from you until you have nothing left to give."

"And what then?" Jaskier asks, tilting his head up when Geralt's mouth drags over the hinge of his jaw. "Will you kill me?"

Geralt sighs and shifts Jaskier in his arms, nudging him until Jaskier is on his back and looking up at him. His eyes are so dark they look almost amber, his silver hair a wild mess. Jaskier smiles at him and Geralt cups his jaw, drags his thumb over Jaskier's upturned lips.

"You could bewitch even a monster," he admits.

Jaskier's smile gets wider. "Unfortunately for all monsters, it's just my witcher that I want, so they have to find someone else," he says. 

Geralt makes a quiet noise and dips down, kissing Jaskier. 

He draws away again all too soon, ignoring Jaskier with a little grin as he tries to chase his lips. Jaskier makes a disgruntled noise.

"We have to get up," Geralt says.

"Ah, there's the witcher I know and love," Jaskier says with a loud sigh. "Can't we stay here? We could stay like this all day long." 

"Wouldn't you rather sleep at an inn tonight?" Geralt teases and slips his hand higher up Jaskier's shirt. He flicks one of Jaskier's nipples and Jaskier yelps.

"Ow. You absolute brute," he complains. "Be nice… fine. Fine. We're getting up."

  
*  


They'd made camp near a small creek. It's barely ankle-deep, but it's enough to clean up a little and wipe the worst of the stickiness out of the bedroll. Jaskier hisses slightly when the cold, wet rag first comes into contact with his skin, but he grits his teeth and scrubs himself clean as quickly, but thoroughly, as he can.

"It's getting cold," he notes. The days are still mild and nice, but the leaves have started turning and nights are beginning to get chilly.

Geralt hums in agreement. "Few more weeks and then we'll head north," he says.

The words make warmth settle in Jaskier's chest. It'll be his first winter at Kaer Morhen. His first winter with Geralt. He's never minded spending winters in Oxenfurt or whatever court was willing to put him up for the cold months; he's made good coin these past winters and has enjoyed the luxuries that life on the road could never provide him, but with each passing year, parting with Geralt has become harder. He knows life at Kaer Morhen won't be easy—traveling there will be hard and Geralt has warned him that he'll be expected to pull his weight. But he's excited to finally share this part of Geralt's life with him, to meet the other witchers, to crawl into Geralt's bed at the end of each day. It's like there's this big part of Geralt's life that Jaskier doesn't know and he's always been desperate to know everything about him, now more than ever.

Deeming himself as clean as he will get, Jaskier rinses the rag out and wrings it dry as best as he can. They get dressed silently and while Geralt starts packing, Jaskier retrieves a small pot of cream for his skin from the saddle bags.

"I'm almost out," he says as he dips two fingers into the pot and scoops up some of the thick, sweet-smelling cream. "We need to stop somewhere where I can buy more."

"It's a waste of coin," Geralt points out.

Jaskier makes an affronted noise and starts rubbing the cream onto his face. "It's not a waste. It keeps me looking youthful and pretty." 

Geralt huffs and rolls his eyes. "It's your elven blood, not the crap you spend all your coin on that does that," he says.

"You don't know that. It takes more than a little questionable lineage to look this good," Jaskier replies. "This makes my skin all soft and smooth. And it smells nice. I have to put in a lot of effort to keep looking so good and keeping the attention of a strapping witcher such as yourself."

"So you're doing this for me?" Geralt mocks.

Jaskier heaves a sigh and presses a hand to his heart. "I do everything for you, my darling."

"Right now you're doing everything so you don't have to help me pack," Geralt replies. 

"Geralt! I would never," Jaskier lies. He stores the salve away in Roach's saddle bags again and then looks around, making sure there's nothing left behind, before he picks up his lute and slips the strap over his shoulder. 

"Can I ride Roach?" he asks innocently, grinning a little.

"No," Geralt grumbles.

"See how rude he is to me, Roach, my darling?" Jaskier asks, patting the mare's neck. "I'm good enough to keep his bedroll warm, but not good enough to ride his noble steed." 

"Feel free to sleep in your own bedroll again," Geralt says and then pauses. "Oh wait, you conveniently lost it this spring and had to start sharing mine. And you keep forgetting to buy a new one."

"I'm a very forgetful person," Jaskier agrees solemnly. 

Geralt gives him an amused smirk. "Hmm."

"I think I liked you better before you developed a sense of humor, witcher," Jaskier grumbles. "You're annoying."

"Ah, if I'm annoying, I wouldn't want to force my company on you more than necessary. We really should buy you a new bedroll in the next town we pass through," Geralt says.

Jaskier gives Geralt his sweetest smile. "We should, but I fear I would just lose it again before the day is over. So there's really no use."

"Hmm."

Jaskier's grin widens.

Geralt shakes his head at him. "Let's get going. The day will be over before we get anywhere if you keep dawdling." 

"Yes, yes, you're always so damn impatient," Jaskier says and then tips his chin up. "Kiss for the road, dear heart." 

Geralt rolls his eyes, but he steps closer and leans in for a kiss, murmuring, "Ridiculous bard," against his mouth.

  
*  


They pass a hamlet by noon. There's no inn or tavern and no contracts to be found, but an older woman gives them bread, cheese and a couple of apples for some coin and tells them there's a bigger village a few hours west from there where they might have more luck.

"I hope they're in need of a bard," Jaskier says, taking a bite out of his apple. "I have a new song I would really like to test out on an audience. I think it will do quite well, but there are a few lines that might need some tweaking." 

"Hmm."

"That's _exactly_ why I need an audience. Your feedback is always woefully lacking, dear," Jaskier complains, turning his head to give Geralt a pointed look. Geralt is, for once, not riding Roach, but walking next to him, leading Roach by the reins.

"Perhaps I don't have anything nice to say."

"Oh please, you love my voice," Jaskier says.

"Not when you're singing," Geralt replies, and Jaskier scoffs and punches Geralt in the arm. Geralt's step doesn't even falter, but Jaskier's knuckles sting.

"Ow," he mutters, flexing his hand to get rid of the slight pain. 

Geralt snorts.

"It's not funny, you lummox," Jaskier complains. He finishes the last bite of his apple and tosses the core into the grass next to the path they're on. There are a few farms scattered around the area and it seems like every last person living here is out in the fields today, working on bringing in this year's harvest. "Have we missed Valen, do you think?"

"No. Should be in the next few days," Geralt says. 

"Maybe we can stay in the village if there's enough coin to be made there," Jaskier suggests. "See if there are any festivities they might need a bard for. There's always good drink and food for travelers in taverns on Valen."

"Hmm."

"Ah yes, don't strain yourself using too many words, dear heart," Jaskier mocks and pats Geralt's arm. 

  
*  


The village isn't huge by any means, but there's an inn there and two taverns down the same street. However, Jaskier quickly realizes there's no luck to be found here for them. People stop and stare as they walk down the main road of the village—Jaskier tries not to bristle at the open hostility in the looks they're getting—and when they enter the inn, the innkeeper's face freezes at the sight of the two of them.

"No service for his kind," he says, nodding at Geralt.

Jaskier's cheerful smile becomes strained. "Good sir, this is Geralt of Rivia, the mightiest witcher on the entire Continent."

"We don't want no witchers here," the innkeeper snaps. 

"Our coin is just as good as anyone else's," Jaskier replies, his smile finally fading. "We just want a room."

"You can have one. He can't," the innkeeper says, but he's eyeing Jaskier dubiously, like he'd rather not have him around either.

Jaskier puts his hands on his hips. "You think I will _pay_ you good money for a room when you're treating my friend like this?" he asks. "No, sir. Either we both stay or we both leave."

"Then get out," the innkeeper says, his tone firm.

"Jaskier," Geralt mutters.

"Fine," Jaskier says, throwing his hands up. " _Fine_. See how far that attitude gets you the next time you have a monster problem and nobody is willing to help, because witchers aren't welcome in your shitty little town. We wouldn't want to stay in this shithole anyway."

"Jask," Geralt repeats, voice low and calm. 

Jaskier spins around, anger bright hot in the pit of his stomach. "Let's go, darling," he says, keeping his head high as they leave. 

Outside, Geralt steps up to Roach's side, stroking her neck and then he looks at Jaskier almost gently. "You should be used to it by now."

Jaskier purses his lips. "I won't ever be," he says, tone bitter and a bit sharp. "I don't _want_ to ever be, because it's not right."

Geralt sighs. "Let's stock up on supplies and get going. I want to find a place to camp before sunset," he says and smiles wryly. "Sorry we probably won't be in a town for Valen. I know you were excited about that."

"Oh please, fuck that. That twit in there doesn't deserve our coin and this town doesn't deserve my music," Jaskier says. "Shall we split up to get what we need, so we can get out of here faster?"

Geralt seems to consider the idea for a moment, looking hesitant, before he nods. "I need to buy some things for potions. There was a small apothecary on the way here."

"I'll get food then," Jaskier suggests. "See if you can get some oil. Maybe some soap."

"Hmm," Geralt grunts and nods again. 

"Alright," Jaskier says, trying to sound cheerful. He doesn't want to let this town drag his mood down, not when the day has been going so well. "Let's meet at the crossroads just outside of town, shall we?"

Geralt nods. "You have your daggers, right?"

Jaskier's smile softens. "Yes, dear," he says. "Don't worry about me. I'll see you in a bit?"

Geralt nods. "Don't start any trouble."

"Me? Never," Jaskier replies with a small grin. 

  
*  


Jaskier is laden down with several packages as he makes his way out of town. He tried his best to haggle, but he knows he got ripped off by more than one vendor in town. He wishes he could have told everyone to fuck off, but if they won't have a roof over their heads tonight he wants them to at least have decent food. 

He remembers the feasts they had for Valen back in Lettenhove. There aren't many good memories Jaskier has of the place, but the food had been plenty and delicious. He got into trouble more times than he can remember for sneaking into the kitchens to steal treats, especially around the big holidays. 

Geralt is already waiting for him, his gaze roaming over Jaskier as he approaches.

"I'm hale and safe, don't give me that look, Geralt," Jaskier says and hands over some of his purchases.

Geralt hums and starts storing them away in Roach's saddlebags, a frown on his face. "You bought too much." 

Jaskier shrugs. "I asked around. Valen is tomorrow. I thought we could have our own feast," he says.

"Jaskier."

"Don't fret, I didn't go overboard. Not completely," he says. He really didn't. But he did buy a wineskin and fresh bread, honey cakes and cheese, as well as some spices and onions and mushrooms to make a decent stew for them.

"And you didn't start any trouble either?" Geralt asks suspiciously, and Jaskier scoffs.

"Your absolute lack of trust in me truly hurts."

"You wanted to stab the last person who called me butcher, Jask," Geralt says, sounding slightly amused.

"Well, you shouldn't have given me daggers if you didn't want me to stab people, dear," Jaskier counters. 

"I gave them to you to defend yourself."

"But I've already got you to do that for me, and I wouldn't want my pretty daggers to go to waste," Jaskier replies cheekily. "Let's get moving, yes? I want to get as far away from this pisshole as possible and then I want to spend the rest of the night forgetting we were ever here."

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Geralt asks.

Jaskier hums. "I have some ideas, darling," he says and steps closer.

Geralt huffs, and Jaskier leans in and steals a quick kiss.

  
*  


They don't make it very far that day, and if there wasn't a line of trees shielding the view, Jaskier would bet they'd still be able to see the lights of the town. Just the thought of being so close to those people puts him in a shitty mood, but he tries his best to ignore it. 

They have roasted hare and bread and cheese for dinner and then they crawl into Geralt's bedroll together and Jaskier presses himself close to Geralt. 

"I love you," he murmurs, placing kisses to Geralt's neck and what little he can reach of his collarbone where his unlaced shirt reveals skin. Geralt hums and cards his fingers through Jaskier's hair, and oddly enough it feels like Geralt is comforting him rather than the other way around. 

  
*  


They head further north the next day, setting out early.

Jaskier isn't sure if Geralt has a destination in mind or if they're just aimlessly wandering. Or if Geralt just picked the vague direction of the one place he feels at home, feels welcome.

It's not that late in the afternoon when they find a place to set camp. They could travel for another hour or two, but Jaskier asks Geralt to stop for the day and Geralt agrees without complaint. There's nowhere he's desperate to get to then, Jaskier guesses.

"Would you mind hunting? Some meat for dinner would be nice," Jaskier says.

Geralt puts the saddlebags down. "Letting me do all the hard work, bard?"

"Are you suggesting I go hunt? Because we'll both just go to bed hungry then."

Geralt snorts. "Get started on a fire," he says and then turns and heads for the line of trees wordlessly. 

"No squirrel, please!" Jaskier calls after him. There's a 50/50 chance Geralt will listen. Or he'll come back with a squirrel or two just to piss Jaskier off, even though Jaskier knows Geralt doesn't like the taste any more than he does and there's hardly enough meat on a squirrel to feed a witcher.

Jaskier gathers firewood and builds a nice campfire and then continues setting up the rest of their camp. He lays out the bedroll for later and then retrieves wrapped parcels of food from the saddlebags. It's not exactly a feast, but he prepares a decent spread of bread and cheese, dried fruit and honey cakes that would have tasted better the day before. They'll be able to prepare a nice stew with the mushrooms and onions once Geralt comes back. 

It won't be like the opulent feasts they had at Lettenhove, but Jaskier thinks this will be better anyway. He'd rather have cheap wine with someone he loves than a banquet with people who barely tolerated his existence. 

Geralt returns with two hares and a bundle of wild spinach, and Jaskier lights up at the sight. "You, my dear, are a fucking marvel," he says. 

Geralt snorts, but he looks pleased at the praise.

"It's not the night you had in mind," he says, as he starts skinning the hares.

Jaskier looks at him and hums thoughtfully. "No," he admits. "I wouldn't have minded sleeping at an inn. But at least the weather is nice."

"You were looking forward to a good dinner and the company of others. Performing your new song."

"What are you implying about my cooking skills? We can still have a good dinner," Jaskier replies. "And I will still be performing my new song tonight. Just for an audience of one." 

"Hmm."

"Oh, don't pretend you won't love it. I'll throw in all your favorites, too."

"I don't have any."

"Because you adore all of my songs. I know," Jaskier says with a dramatic sigh and Geralt snorts. "Look, things rarely turn out the way you think they will. It's fine."

"Is it?" Geralt asks, sounding unsure.

"Geralt," Jaskier says gently. "I don't fit in any more than you do. If I didn't look completely human, I'd hardly be more welcome than you are. My own father could barely stand looking at me."

"Hmm."

"My point is: I'm not like them. Even if I was fully human, I wouldn't be like them. I never was," Jaskier continues. "These people in their small towns with their small town lives? That's never been me."

"Of course not. You're a noble, Jask."

"That was never me either. I always wanted something else. Something more," Jaskier says. "I wanted this."

"Getting kicked out of towns. Sleeping on the hard ground. Having to hunt and forage for food."

"Adventure. Excitement," Jaskier counters. "Inspiration. Love."

"You're insane for wanting this life."

"Ah, yes. I travel the Continent, and people everywhere are singing my songs. They know _my words_ and they hum _my melodies_ , Geralt. There are professors at Oxenfurt who are highly regarded, but if you asked anyone outside of the academy, they wouldn't know their names. People know my name," Jaskier says. "My music brings people joy. People who face hardship every day. Who are miserable, with their lot in life, their marriages, their families. Whether it's nobles or farmers or ignorant, backwater innkeepers. Most of them are stuck in lives they were born into, not lives they chose. But not me."

"You're saying of all the things you could choose, this is what you would want?" Geralt asks, not sounding convinced.

"Yes," Jaskier says without hesitation. "You're grumpy and sullen and guarded, but you're the best man I have ever met and I adore you, you stupid witcher. I fall asleep in the arms of a man I love every night, knowing I am safe and warm and content. And then I wake up to your stupid fucking face the next day and I couldn't be happier about that."

"You're an idiot."

"You know, this is the part where you're supposed to say you love me too," Jaskier points out.

"Hmm."

"Geralt," Jaskier complains, and watches Geralt's lips lift into a smile.

"You're a nuisance," Geralt says. 

Jaskier huffs. "Oh, fine. Finish skinning the hare, you big oaf. I'm hungry," he says. "I know you love me anyway." 

"Hmm," Geralt grunts and goes back to work. "I do."

Jaskier ducks his head and smiles to himself. "I know," he says gently. 

  
*  


Geralt's fingers are digging bruises into his skin and Jaskier moans brokenly on top of him, working himself up and down Geralt's cock. He can't take his eyes off Geralt, can't get enough of the way Geralt watches _him_ as Jaskier rides him, expression full of want, his lips parted and kiss-bruised, sweat making his skin gleam in the firelight. He's so damn beautiful and he feels so fucking amazing, filling Jaskier just right, the pressure inside of him just perfect.

"Fuck, Geralt," Jaskier spits, and he doubles his effort, chasing completion—both his and Geralt's.

Geralt grunts in return, yellow eyes fixed on him as he rolls his hips up into him, meeting Jaskier's movement. A warm, calloused hand closes around Jaskier's cock and Jaskier keens as Geralt starts stroking him, hard and fast.

Jaskier comes moments later with a cry that echoes through the forest. Geralt licks his lips, moans and thrusts up into him a few more times, quick and sloppy, and spills inside of him as well. 

"I think," Jaskier starts, once he's rolled off Geralt and settled down next to him, still breathless. He breathes in the musky scent of sweat and sex and sighs contentedly. "I think the next ballad I will compose about you will be about this."

Geralt grunts. He shifts onto his side, slips an arm around Jaskier. His breath tickles against Jaskier's neck.

"About the magnificent, awe-inspiring, wonderful cock of Geralt of Rivia," Jaskier continues.

Geralt pinches his waist, and Jaskier yelps and laughs.

"You want to get kicked out of even more inns than we already are?" Geralt grumbles. He lifts his leg, the one wedged between Jaskier's, tangling their limbs even more. 

"I don't have to sing it at inns," Jaskier points out. "I will sing it in the halls of Kaer Morhen. You think the other witchers will like it?"

"I think I will kill you," Geralt counters. 

Jaskier turns his head and leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Geralt's lips. "Help me out. What rhymes with 'huge prick'?"

"I will make you dig your own grave before I kill you."

"Hmm, no, that doesn't rhyme at all, darling," Jaskier teases. 

Geralt huffs, nuzzling into the crook of Jaskier's neck. Jaskier lifts his hand, curls it around the thick muscles of Geralt's upper arm that is wrapped around his torso. 

"Fine. Perhaps a ballad about a bard that followed a witcher to the edge of the world then. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like the bard is a fool," Geralt grumbles.

"Yes. But a happy one," Jaskier says. "Deliriously so."

"Hmm."

"And I think the witcher is happy, too," Jaskier adds, a little less confidently. "At least a little."

"Go to sleep, Jaskier," Geralt says.

Jaskier sighs and it turns into a yawn halfway through. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because of my magnificent, awe-inspiring, wonderful cock," Geralt mocks, trailing his fingers down Jaskier's side. "Now shush. Sleep."

"Yes, dear," Jaskier mutters and he really does feel tired suddenly, the afterglow of sex fading and leaving behind only sated exhaustion. He closes his eyes, feels himself slowly starting to drift off.

"I am," he hears Geralt murmur as he starts nodding off.

"Hmm?" 

"Happy," Geralt says quietly and shifts against his side. "Sleep, Jask. Sleep."

Jaskier smiles muzzily. Tomorrow, he thinks, he'll wake up to the stupid face of his witcher. And he couldn't be happier about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Other places you can find me: [twitter](https://twitter.com/whispered_story) | [tumblr](https://whispered-story.tumblr.com/)


End file.
